Death Takes a Holiday
by Juniorstarcatcher
Summary: Death, disguised as a mortal woman named Lilith, takes a one-day respite from her toils, choosing to learn about life from a young soldier in Brooklyn.


Death is an easy way to live. She glides through the centuries with breathless casualty, walking through famines and earthquakes, through war zones and plagues. Though she is Death, she does not pick and choose. She simply sees those who are hanging in the balance between Earth and the what lies beyond and, with nothing more taxing than a gentle touch to their chest- a brush of her fingers, really-she releases the struggling soul into rest. It's been her duty and her purpose for her entire life; this path she has walked has been the only one she has known.

Death has but one job, and it has been to simply walk the Earth and liberate its citizens from their suffering.

And there has never been a moment that gave her cause to hesitate. Never a sobbing mother that unsteadied her hand over the body of a struggling infant. Never a husband clinging to his wife's still body that triggered an emotional pause from her.

She has endured begging. She has endured prayerful goodbyes. She has endured bargaining and cursing and clinging. Agony and sorrow and pain beyond the comprehension and endurance of any lesser being.

She has borne it since the inception of time, and Death has never flinched from her responsibility.

That is, until 1942.

The years have begun to wear upon the soul of timeless Death, and, for the first time-though her hand does not show any signs of twitching away from its responsibility- she finds herself endlessly curious. The second World War has been raging across the world and her schedule finds hardly a moment for rest; men and women hang in the valley of her shadow in endless lines and droves, just waiting for her touch to free them.

And it is now, in the middle of an American training camp during live-fire training rounds, over the body of a faceless soldier that has joined the droves tucked away in her heart, that she finds her curiosity insurmountably unbearable.

What is so worth living for? What good is life at all? What is so wonderful about life that it forces men to weep at her feet and beg to remain in its presence? What makes life worth living?

So, it is on the evening of July 4th, 1942, that Death decides that a small respite from her toil is in order. Drawing in a breath of life, she lays down her cape of smoke and thunder, and steps into a body of her own creation, a new dress of skin and bones, to understand for the first time why all men scream when she comes near.

* * *

><p>Bucky Barnes never met a band, a dame, or a Fourth of July celebration that he didn't like, and now, he's wearing an army uniform, which means that in Brooklyn, he's practically got the keys to the city on a night like tonight. Fourth of July's always been big news for Bucky, what with Steve's birthday happening to fall on that day, but now that he's a soldier, off to fight in the war, off to the big dance, as they've taken to calling it, there's something especially vein-thrumming about this celebration.<p>

There's a massive party on the docks tonight, where all of his friends from the neighborhood will congregate, so he shows up handsomely late with a fresh coat of polish on his shoes and a shine to the brass buttons adorning his chest. The men wearing clothes that look just like his and who adorn their faces with smirks just as proud and bawdy as his; Bucky attempts a beeline toward them, ready to uncork a bottle something strong and drink at their sides until the fireworks and stars have evacuated the skies in exchange for the morning sun, but something catches his eye. Something all together distracting and entrancing all at once.

Well, not a something, but rather a someone.

He's never seen anyone like her, not in Brooklyn, not in the city, either. Hollywood pictures don't even seem to come close. Sitting alone on a bench at the outskirts of the party, a glass of something unidentifiable in her hands, her eyes shine with an excitement that Bucky perhaps has never seen in his life. So far to the edge of her seat that she's almost standing, there is a pulse to her very look, an energy that catches Bucky's eye and draws him directly to her without hesitation.

She's otherworldly.

Perhaps there should have been some debate in his mind, some question of gentlemanly ethics or careful exploration of her situation, but Bucky doesn't have any. Instead, he moves as if pulled by the magnetism in her smiling eyes. Watching the crowd dance, she claps, pressing her hands against her chest as she laughs at some remarkable dip a wildly twirling couple are able to pull off with grace and cheerful ease.

It's as if she's seeing the world for the first time, watching from the outskirts as the mysteries of life unfold around her.

She's intoxicating.

Unable to help himself, Bucky swaggers up to the woman sitting alone in a sea of people and extends his hand, his eyes grazing her remarkable face as he smiles, calling over the din of the big band playing some upbeat tune.

"Would you like to dance?"

* * *

><p>Death- no, <em>Lilith<em>, she reminds herself, Lilith is the name that she must use now- looks at the extended hand in shock for a long, jazz-filled moment. Her mind conjures up a million images of other hands she's seen in her centuries of service to mankind. Hands clasped in prayer. Hands trying to pull the dead back to life. Hands clinging to prayerbooks and children and mistresses. She then thinks of her own hand, which holds the touch of liberty in every pore.

A power that she has given up for twenty-four hours, the entirety of July 4th, so that she might know what it means to live. For one day in history, no one will succumb to Death. No solider will writhe from gunfire and no mother will slip from childbirth and no cancerous tumors will eat away at bodies and no cars will strike well-walking bodies. No. There will be only life today, because Death- pardon me, _Lilith-_has decided to live.

Her eyes trail up the extended arm, until she is looking up under her long lashes at a soldier. She's seen a million wearing just that same uniform. She's encountered greater looking men, men with clearer eyes and fairer features.

But something about that smile of his makes her heart- a _heart_! What a magnificent thing it is, she thinks, to have a _heart! _-skip two of its newly found beats. Her smile only grows and her chest only swells as she looks at him.

"What is it? Cat got your tongue?" He asks, his crystalline eyes glistening at hers in the parade lights that they've got set up all around the docks for just this celebration.

Clearing her throat, she blinks and shakes her head, her curls twisting this way and that with delicate flair.

"No. I'll take that dance," she says, sliding her hands into his, feeling the exhilaration of his delicious pulse tapping alongside hers.

The song that's playing is slow and languorous, dawdling down the melody line with bluesy variations and idling syncopation. Singing his soul, the leader of the band smokes a tune whose baseline curves around Lilith and Bucky's bodies as they wander out to the middle of the dance floor. Lilith looks around at the bodies in motion around them and suddenly feels a flush crawl up her skin, embarrassed at the sudden realization that dawns over her.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid that I don't know this dance," she hastily apologizes, almost instantly taking a step away from the dance floor, thinking that perhaps this stranger will not want someone as clumsy and clueless as her as a dance partner.

But her suspicion isn't true at all. In fact, Bucky's features soften as he pulls her into him, bringing her back to the crowd of dancing couples as they move across the deck of the party. Smiling gently at the hummingbird of a woman who has caught the quiet part of his soul in little more than a moment.

"That's alright. I'll show you," he begins, "Gimme your hand," she obliges, but carefully, only giving him her wrists, "And then put your other right here-"

Bucky moves to place one of her hands over his heart, but she retracts almost violently, a reflex that she could hardly keep control of. Her pulse races in fear; she can't kill him, she can't touch his heart. If she does, he'll—

"Oh, I can't-" She protests.

But by the time the words have come to her mouth, Bucky has already placed the hand where it belongs, and he hasn't so much as winced in pain. And, suddenly, she remembers. She has no power to harm until midnight tonight. She's given it up. This man is safe from her touch.

"What?" He asks, confused at her sudden fear.

Lilith stares at her hand, harmlessly resting over his heart, feeling its miraculous _thump-thump-thump_ keeping time with their steps beneath her flesh, in steady awe. Then, she shakes her head, clearing the tiny victory from her mind.

"Never mind," she says, flashing him a smile, "It's nothing."

Bucky watches the storm of feelings crash up and down her cheeks, his fascination with her continuing without hesitation as she allows her hands to relax, one in his grip and the other over his heart as his free hand rests on her waist. Why he chose her from all of the women, the familiar women, the beautiful women who surrounded her, perhaps he'll never know. But she's here now, and his thoughts are consumed by the unceasing brightness in her eyes.

"What's your name?" He asks.

She stumbles over that question, which causes Bucky to both chuckle and furrow his brow in confusion.

"De-" she begins before catching herself, "Lilith. I'm Lilith."

He nods at her with a civil sort of charm as he leads her across the floor. While she may not know this dance, he knows it with his eyes closed. It's a Brooklyn standard, an old classic in the dance halls that he and Steve frequent.

"I'm Bucky. Bucky Barnes," he introduces himself.

Lilith rolls over it in her mind, tasting it on her tongue. It's the first name that anyone has given her in her day on Earth. The words seem to etch themselves into her very skin, those two basic words that give birth to the identity of this less-than stranger. She nods, looking up at him in admiration.

"That's a nice name. It suits," she approves.

Bucky stumbles over his own feet as those stunning grey eyes focus solely on him.

"Well, thank you," he says with an embarrassed cough, before turning the focus back to his partner, "I haven't seen you around before."

He knows everyone who goes through this neighborhood; he has lived here his whole life and no one just _stumbles in_ to a place like this. Lilith smiles to herself, sharing a private joke that Bucky wishes he were apart of.

"I haven't been around before," she replies.

Once again, Bucky trips over his own two feet, and shakes his head in frustration before offering a breathless apology through a self-deprecating smile.

"Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry. I'm not normally this clumsy," he begins before once more deflecting to her with a teasing sort of scorn, "You're making me nervous."

This comes to a shock to Lilith. Terrified, agonized, sorrowful, yes. Men have been all those things in her presence. But nervous? Never nervous. Delight slips onto her features.

"How?" She asks.

Bucky rights his steps and quirks his head to one side, attempting to figure out just what it is about her that he's so drawn to.

"You're a real piece of work," he settles, thinking that perhaps it is the mystery that has him so enraptured.

That isn't a turn of phrase that Lilith is familiar with. Looking at him with confusion, she furrows her brow and follows his steps carefully as he leads her through the mass of other dancing couples.

"I don't know what that means," she replies.

Bucky searches for a way to explain it that she might understand, completely unsure if he has ever met another human being who hasn't heard of that expression. He lets the words roll off of his uncertain tongue as he follows his mind for the words that might explain it appropriately.

"It means that you're looking at the world in a different way, I think," he says.

That isn't really what the saying means, not really. But it is the way that he explains to himself why he likes her so much. She's seeing something so commonplace, so normal. A Brooklyn evening. She's looking at it, looking at him, looking at the band and the partygoers, as though they are the most magnificent revelation ever to appear to her. At the compliment he pays her, Lilith's smile only grows and she looks at the setting around her, that look in her eyes more fantastic than any firework that will go off this evening.

"It's just all so wonderful, isn't it?" She asks.

Bucky's eyebrows knit and he leans in closer to her in order to hear her better.

"What is?"

_Everything_. Oh, Everything is so surreal. Lilith's one day on Earth… Take this one moment. That's all she does as she weighs her response. The music from the band fills the air in a way that surpasses the solidity of rain and transcends the weightlessness of clouds. The community of friends surrounding them, laughing in spite of the heat of the midsummer evening, feels to her a splendid company to keep, stronger than any army and twice as loyal. And then, there's that feeling she gets when she thinks of how close Bucky is holding her and how beautiful that look in his eyes makes her feel.

"Living," she responds, for it is the only word that sums up just how this moment makes her feel. _Alive. _

He chuckles, that optimism startling and touching him in a place buried so deep within him that he wasn't ever sure it existed. But, in his laughter, he doesn't realize how close they've gotten. His lips linger just a touch away from her own.

"Yeah. I guess so," he breathes.

And just as he's about to cover the space of a touch and bring his lips to hers, the song finishes and the crowd parts to applaud the band's efforts. Sheepishly, Lilith follows suit, leaving the kiss before it could seal the odd, foreign feelings rising up in her chest.

"Bucky! Hey, Buck!" A voice cries out from across the crowded floor.

Bucky and Lilith look toward the sound of the voice until they find Steve Rogers, waving his arm in the air in an attempt to get Bucky's attention. With a cough, Bucky nods over to his friend.

"Oh, uh-That's my cue," he says, a pit forming in his stomach as he thinks of how, for a moment there, he though the dance with her might last forever, "Would you like to come get a drink with me?"

Her mouth goes to form the word yes, but then, she sees the clock above the timekeeper's building on the north end of the ship yard. It's almost midnight. Her day is almost up.

"I would love to, but…" Her newly created heart feels like it's going to burst at its fresh seams as her face falls in disappointment, "I really must be going."

A painful ache thrums in Bucky's chest, but he pushes it aside, offering instead a smile that only highlights the hurt in his eyes.

"Your fairy godmother comes at midnight?" He attempts to joke.

Lilith looks at the floor, knowing she has to go back. She can't remain human forever, especially not now that she has the answer to the question that drove her to humanity in the first place, that drove her into the arms of this strange, beautiful, and somehow lost soldier.

"Something like that," she nods.

She turns around and begins to walk off into the distance, knowing that she will dissolve back into herself by the time the clock strikes twenty-four hours and the end of her time here. Desperately, Bucky calls after her, even as her body begins to disappear into the crowd of bodies struggling to find partners for the next dance.

"I'll see you again, won't I?" He pleads.

Death's response is locked away in her quickly dissipating chest, a private response saved for her and her alone. Her skin begins to slip through the air like sand, but not before the diamond of a tear streaks its way down her face. If she were ever to see Bucky again, it would be to lead him away from life, from the life that she just learned from him. She'd have to take him away from that smile of his, that silly turn of phrase, from that strength that radiates from the very core of his being. She'd have to take him away, and that's not something she thinks she could ever do.

"Oh, Bucky. I hope not."

Not hearing her response, but instead losing her in the mass of humanity milling around the party, Bucky holds on hope. Until the day he deploys, he searches for her on the streets, in the shops, in restaurants and dance halls. When he goes to the front, he spends his free time in the hospital tents, searching for her in the faces of the nurses. If only he had known that he was looking in the wrong places. For she wasn't in the eyes of the smiling nurses. But rather, she was reflected in the eyes of the comrades who were slipping from the grasp of the living. Always there, just never in the places where Bucky knew to look.

* * *

><p>And sometime later, when Bucky's body slips from the warm embrace of a train into the frozen grip of a wintered river, his mind wanders away from his body as he welcomes Death. He traipses through the valley of her shadow, and through the murky mirror of his vision, he could almost swear that he sees a woman with quiet gray eyes and an otherworldly haze around her. He could almost swear that's dancing with Lilith.<p>

Somewhere between life and the place where she leaves him, the two of them dance once more. But her hand doesn't rest on his chest this time. Instead, they sway until the song plays out, when she plants a gentle kiss on his forehead, leaving a stain of life there that will never leave him.

For the first time in Death's existence, she refuses to end someone's life; she refuses to place her liberating touch on someone's heart. All because, in the space of a single dance, Bucky Barnes touched hers.

* * *

><p><strong>I wanted to do a cheesy Bucky Barnes 4th of July piece, so here it is! please leave a review! I would love to hear your thoughts!<strong>


End file.
